All The Lovely Books

All the Lovely Books.

All the lovely books

give me black looks

as if to say,

you’re so hard to read

these days,

once you turned

to us always,

but now you

barely look.

What I Saw on the Way

Beth put up a post yesterday about the joys of walking, not just the health benefits but what you come across on the way.

Here are some of the things I came across:

water tumbling over stones

a brindled dog all skin and bones

frogs jamming in baritone

the bumblebees’ gingery drone

horses cantering on their own

one jet black, the others roan,

sad girl sitting all alone

hunched over her mobile phone

The Sad, Sad Chairs

Whenever I go downtown to the shopping centre and walk past the Nail Salon I tense up.

Sometimes I hear weeping.

But there is no one there, just John the Vietnamese proprietor.

He is at his laptop.

But the big chairs, the pedicure chairs which cost a small fortune, are empty.

They are sad, unloved, unsat in.

You can hear them crying, sobbing into the arm rests.

I feel like going in to console them.

Perhaps sit in them for a while to cheer them up.

But it’s all right.

Once Spring comes and hits its stride, the women come and the chairs emit a cheery glow.

Tight-Lipped

If you see Millie, let me know, she says as she retires for the night.

I will, I promise.

So I watch the program I want to see

then watch the program I do not want to see

going outside to check during the ad breaks

rattling the tin of biscuits, calling out her name

but there is no sign; and the stars have come out

and the moon glows knowingly but remains tight-lipped

so I go inside to watch another show I do not want to see

going outside at intervals, rattling the old biscuit tin

looking for the cat that does not want to be found.